


A Discarded Monstrosity

by buzzbuzz34



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: 19th Century, Christianity, Diary/Journal, Inspired by Frankenstein, References to Frankenstein, Statement Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-06 08:07:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21223316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buzzbuzz34/pseuds/buzzbuzz34
Summary: Collected journal entries detailing the events that inspired the tale of Frankenstein as we know it.





	A Discarded Monstrosity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Adothan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adothan/gifts).

_Statement of Dr. Stanley Viktorov, regarding his scientific experiments on mortality. Compiled from journal entries written in 1814 and 1815. _

_Statement begins._

May 3, 1814

For so many years I have treated the injured, the sick, the dying, yet never did I stop to consider the weakness prevalent in the human body to allow such frailty, never did I think that treatment is but a futile attempt at repairing a broken system. Good men, great men, are slaughtered daily in myriad battlefields across our shrinking world, because their bodies are not strong enough to survive. 

What if we could rewrite the human body? Create an entity that does not bow to the fickle concepts of life and death as we know them? To piece together the best of each of us to form a man who need not fear death for it is unknown to him, in his durability and physical prowess, towering over his slain comrades on each and every theater of war, for he cannot be stopped by such mortal conundrums as illness and injury…

I must think on this further. Perhaps it is time to stop treating the accessories of war as an afterthought; but to devise a soldier who needs no treatment. 

June 17, 1814

It is said that only God has the power to give life. I do not seek to impinge upon His domain, only to save more by using the parts discarded by others that have already moved onto His Kingdom. 

I have spoken to the man who tends to the cemetery down the street from the hospital. His questions disappeared when presented with enough monetary compensation, and his eyes conveniently choose to pass over me when I search through the recently buried coffins for what I need, the pieces I require for my creation. Many good men may die in war, and I apologize for interrupting their rest when they are returned to lie among the soil of their homeland, the homeland they died protecting, but they can continue to serve in their own way, once I am done. 

July 24, 1814

[Surrounded by pages of diagrams of the human body, equations, and scientific jargon, a few words are written prominently, in all capital letters.]

I’VE DONE IT

August 9, 1814

Now that I have devised the appropriate formulae and scientific principles (many of which did not exist as such until I saw fit to give them shape and form now), I must continue to acquire the appropriate parts for my soldier. However, rigor mortis is often too potent in the samples I’ve acquired from the cemetery. Only a few of the organs remain suitable for my creation. 

August 16, 1814

The solution came to me today. It was simple. I can’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.

After an amputation, the removed limb is simply discarded, and it was easy enough for me to find it and keep it for my own uses. It is fresh and potent and malleable for my needs. I shall continue to gather up the parts that no longer serve their original owner so that they may serve something greater. 

August 28, 1814

The discarded bits of flesh are no longer good enough. While they have provided me much of the outline, the internal structure and organs have proven the most difficult to acquire, as they are only discarded after death, when their freshness has faded. As such, I will have to take matters into my own hands.

A few students have called upon me recently, yet I could not allow them into my rooms lest they notice the smell or even gaze upon the pieces I have already brought in for my experiments. I fear that others will not understand my goal, and instead see me as decrying the medical knowledge to which we have devoted our lives and attempting to defile the power of our Lord. Until I am successful, I must keep my work secret, and maintain my solitude except for when I must go on my rounds or teach a lesson. All else can wait. 

September 2, 1814

With enough ether, nothing seemed amiss as I carted the unconscious body into the operating theater so that I could take what I needed. I’m sure it’ll be a shame for the family, that their son died in surgery, but his heart beat so profoundly and so bravely against all of his injuries, and certainly we could have discharged him back into society with enough care, but his musculature was too exquisite to pass up. His organs will serve better in my hands. 

Of course, the nurses were concerned that his head went missing, but these things do happen. You have to understand, they were an excellent set of eyes, with such a lovely sheen…

September 8, 1814

So many bodies brought into my hospital. So many specimens. I should be ready in no time. 

September 16, 1814

I have what I need. It is all prepared. All that remains now is to let science lead the way, to give rise to a new creation, and death will become a forgotten memory.

September 17, 1814

What have I done? The procedure worked as intended in most ways, giving life to the dead, restarting vital functions, stimulating the brain; each piece regained its original purpose, but the flesh…

The body mutated and warped before my eyes as sparking beams of light and bubbling solutions navigated through the skeletal frame, twisting and writhing until it no longer appeared as the soldier I’d intended to create. This was no man, but a monstrosity of sunken skin and misshapen limbs. 

I fled. I take no pride in it. I ran from my rooms as soon as it moved toward me, but there was no one in whom I could or would confide, and I was forced to return when the night had ended. However, it was no longer there. 

I suppose I should take solace in the fact that the scientific processes I devised worked. Life was restored to forgotten scraps of skin and muscle. But the creature now released upon the city is _not _alive, it is nothing more than an amorphous terror created by something forsaken even by God. 

September 20, 1814

My brother is dead. His body was ripped apart. Not savaged by an animal in the woods or cut apart by a blade, but torn and shredded by human hands. Or hands that were once human, perhaps, before I attached them to a godless abomination that is loose upon the city. 

I abandoned it, that creation of flesh. And now, I fear that it has come for those whom I hold dear, to take them from me as I have taken the donors of each and every part which constitutes its hulking frame. 

I couldn’t perform my rounds this week. Few students continue to call upon me as I’ve been absent for more and more lectures. At first, I thought it was simply the grief over losing my brother and the role I myself played in his death. However, my health has taken a toll that surpasses the symptoms of such. 

My skin sags off the bone. I have never been more than a wiry academic, yet I feel the muscles grow beneath the surface of my body, swelling in unnatural ways so that my silhouette barely resembles that of a man. I do not know what this is. 

October 3, 1814

More of my family has died, ripped apart in the same way as my dear brother. My father and my sister were next to go, along with my closest friend at the hospital. While I did not deliver the killing blow, I am responsible for their deaths. 

Each time I receive the news, I feel my body shift and slither again, bones cracking under musculature that is not mine, that does not sit right on any human form. I see my reflection and shudder from it. The only thing that still shines is my eyes, glaring out from a misshapen collection of tissue that once formed a face.

I could not attend the funerals. I have locked myself in my rooms and refuse to leave. If anyone saw what I have become… no. Best to maintain my solitude, even if there are some whom may be able to help me, to reverse this process, or to even hunt down the monster now wreaking havoc across London, but I would be the only monster in their eyes. 

And perhaps they would be right.

November 19, 1814

There is music in my dreams. Three discordant melodies flitter through my skull, sounding almost like hymns, but yet so different, so _wrong_ at the same time. I do not think that all my suffering is God castigating me for attempting to rewrite life and death as only He is allowed to do, I believe that this… is Something Else. And whatever it is that plays these hollow hymns inside my dreams, the creators of these haunting, dissonant songs… _that_ is what is punishing me for attempting to take godlike powers into my own, mortal hands. It is not my Lord, but some sinister reflection of Him, and it is this Something Else that transforms me into the very monster I set loose upon the world. I suppose it is my recompense, to become Something Else as well. 

January 1, 1815

The rest of my family is dead. This will be my last entry. I can barely hold this pen as I feel the bones shift beneath my peeling skin, rubbing against each other with a sickening motion, and my flesh writhes and wriggles as well. This is no ailment of mortality. 

I’m not sure if I will be allowed to die. I attempted to play master, to play God with powers so far beyond my comprehending, and I fear that I am doomed to become the same thing I created, some aspect of the Something Else still singing inside my fracturing skull. 

I leave these notes for you, Mr. Poldori. You are the only student – nay, _person_ – who has continued to try and reach me in my solitude, and I can only pray that you may find some answers as to my absence within them. If there is a scientific explanation for what happened to me, I trust that you will be able to determine it, however, I don’t believe that there is. I have always been a man of science and a man of faith, but I firmly believe that the condition inflicted upon me, amplified with each killing at the hand of the monstrosity I created, is bestowed by Something Else that bows not to medicine nor our Holy God. 

Please, do not follow in my footsteps. Do not fear the End. Do not meddle with mortality or the affairs of the Flesh, lest you too become the very thing you have feared. 

Dr. Stanley Viktorov. 

_Statement Ends._

_Dr. Jon Poldori is a known physician and writer from the period, known as the creator of the first English vampire story, even if it has been misattributed to Byron throughout the ages. However, Poldori was also instrumental in developing the tale we know today as Frankenstein. The activity of Dr. Viktorov is too similar to Mary Shelley’s novel to be ignored. _

_Of course, the fictional story does not include the doctor transforming into a mirror image of the monster he created, nor the three echoing songs in his head, as described herein. _

_I cannot help but wonder – how likely are the Entities to work together? Their avatars, they – _we_ – form partnerships and create allies as necessary for our own ends, but the Entities themselves? The three songs in the doctor’s dreams seem to indicate that his “Something Else” is in fact three things: The Flesh, The End, and The Lonely. _

_Was Dr. Viktorov transformed into a solitary monster that cannot die as a punishment? Or as a blessing, bestowed upon him by these three ‘gods’ for his work? Perhaps it is neither. If the Entities themselves have deigned so far to meddle, it is entirely possible there wasn’t that much purpose to their actions in any event, save to spread fear of a monster and its creator. Though which is more terrifying will long remain a matter of debate._

_End Recording._

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!!! I hope that you liked it! Both of your prompts were super interesting!
> 
> When looking through Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_, I couldn't help but notice the presence of three main Entities as described in TMA: the Flesh (sticking together body parts), the End (bringing dead things back to life which then go on to kill), and the Lonely (the monster is abandoned by its creator, is a unique being with no companions, and then kills off the Doctor's family until he too is alone), so I wanted to try and instill those in this entry, though in a more graphic and Magnus-y way. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope that you enjoyed!!! <3


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